Truth Takes a Holiday

On a family holiday to the Kimberleys, AT reader Alison Campbell Rate learns the value of walking tall, staring straight ahead . . . And lying through her teeth.

I try not to lie to my children. It sets a bad example. Besides, I might get caught. But there comes a time in every mother’s life when a lie – or, indeed, several – is well and truly warranted for everybody’s good, including her own.

When that moment of truth hits, you lie with ease and without compunction. I blame this moral degeneration on the barefaced lies of a chance-met acquaintance. We’d left the translucent waters of Broome about 350km behind us and were now deep in the dry, red heart of the Kimberley. We knew Fitzroy Crossing was the place to see Geikie Gorge so we took a cruise in an open, flat-bottomed boat. The Gorge was originally a coral reef lying under a warm shallow sea. Raised, scored and shaped by nature’s antics over eons, its limestone walls are now home to busy pairs of nesting fairy martins and flashing rainbow bee-eaters. Freshwater crocs, the almost safe kind, smiled at us from their rocky islands.

“Have you taken the kiddies to Tunnel Creek?" was the seemingly innocent remark from one of our fellow passengers. “No, where’s that?" I asked. My first mistake. “Back along the main highway, turn off to the right. Beautiful. Take your bathers. And your torches. You’ll love it."

I relayed this information to my husband within earshot of the children. Second mistake. They were all mad keen, so there we were next morning driving along a shuddery 4WD track towards our doom. The landscape was dramatic – rocky outcrops, savannah-like stretches of grassland, high limestone escarpments above. Boabs stood among the rocks, like sentinels or guardian spirits giving both an exuberant welcome plus a stern reminder not to litter.

Tunnel Creek itself is a wide passageway about 750m in length cutting through to the other side of the Napier Range and nursing year-round water. The heat and glare of the outer world penetrates for a few metres, then darkness takes over. The fun part consists of wading through this thick darkness clutching a torch, negotiating large, chilly pools up to a metre in depth. The kids, initially wildly excited, were nervous of plunging into black water. Having been reassured we were safe from freshwater crocs, I discovered far too late that the tunnel was populated with something almost as unpleasant.

Back at the edge of the first pool a voice inside my head had said: “Enter and you die." But we couldn’t back out now. Summoning up the sort of hearty parental tone required in circumstances like these, I reassured the children that there were absolutely no crocs and that there was nothing to worry about and the torches were not going to go out, well not unless you drop it in the water, Connor, and no, I can’t carry you, I’m carrying the torch; no-one has ever got lost in Tunnel Creek, James, you just go straight through to the end then turn around and come straight out again; that’s just a rock, a rock, Hannah!

We were fast approaching the point at which I realised I’d been lied to. During this running monologue, calculated to shore up my courage as much as theirs, I caught sight of a long, skinny shadow swimming slowly alongside. Then another, and another – some of them quite unnecessarily big.

I suppressed the need to announce to the whole of the Kimberley, “EELS!" and concentrated on swinging the torch beam aside each time one slithered into my line of vision so the kids wouldn’t see. This is where the lies began involuntarily spouting forth: Let’s just go this way where it’s not so deep; move left – there’s a big rock, you don’t want to stub your toes; oh, look at that stalactite!

I could only see them when they silently entered into my little spill of torchlight, but how many were gathering in the blackness?

Paul had by this time realised what was going on and the pair of us ducked and weaved, hauling children left to right. There were dozens of the creatures; my eyes were out on stalks as I tried to keep tabs on my immediate vicinity. I could only see them when they silently entered into my little spill of torchlight, but how many were gathering in the blackness? Any minute now I’d feel a pair of jaws fastening onto my ankle . . .

At last we emerged into sunlight at the far end, where I flopped on the sand and contemplated the return journey. A mother’s courage knows no bounds. Back we went, successfully dodging and lying our heads off until, just as we were nearing the end of the very last pool, Hannah caught sight of a huge specimen sliding past her leg. Before she could do more than drop her jaw in horror, I’d whisked her sideways and out onto dry land.

No doubt the eels were harmless, leading a blameless life in their own little world. No doubt I overreacted. If the woman on the boat deliberately left out this nugget of information it was probably from the best of motives. After all, had I known I’d probably have refused to put one foot in the water and we’d have missed out on what was undeniably a fabulous underground adventure.

Family friends went trekking north earlier this year for a couple of months and I dropped in prior to their departure with maps and notes. Funny thing, but although Tunnel Creek came up as a “must do" with their boys, I can’t recall any mention of eels. Perhaps I just forgot.

Located just an hour north-west of Melbourne, the largely undiscovered Macedon Ranges quietly pours some of Australia’s finest cool-climate wines and serves up some of Victoria’s best food.

Mention the Macedon Ranges and most people will think of day spas and mineral springs around Daylesford, cosy weekends away in the countryside or the famous Hanging Rock (of enigmatic picnic fame). Or they won’t have heard of the Macedon Ranges at all.

But this cool-climate destination has been inconspicuously building a profile as a high-quality food and wine region and is beginning to draw serious attention from oenophiles and epicureans alike.

The rise of Macedon Ranges wine

liquid gold barrels at Kyneton Ridge Estate Winery — Barrels of liquid gold at Kyneton Ridge Estate Winery. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

With elevations ranging from 300 to 800 metres, Macedon Ranges vineyards are among the highest in the country. This altitude, combined with significant day/night temperature swings, makes for a slow ripening season, in turn nurturing wines that embody elegance and structure. Think crisp chardonnays, subtle yet complex pinot noirs and delicate sparkling wines, along with niche varietals, such as gamay and nebbiolo.

Despite the region’s natural advantages – which vary from estate to estate, as each site embodies unique terroir depending on its position in relation to the Great Dividing Range, soil make-up and altitude – the Macedon Ranges has remained something of an insider’s secret. Unlike Victoria’s Yarra Valley or Mornington Peninsula, you won’t find large tour buses here and there’s no mass marketing drawing crowds.

Many of the 40-odd wineries are family-run operations with modest yields, meaning the wineries maintain a personal touch (if you visit a cellar door, you’ll likely chat to the owner or winemaker themselves) and a tight sales circle that often doesn’t go far beyond said cellar door. And that’s part of the charm.

Though wines from the Macedon Ranges are just starting to gain more widespread recognition in Australia, the first vines were planted in the 1860s, with a handful of operators then setting up business in the 1970s and ’80s. The industry surged again in the 1990s and early 2000s with the entry of wineries, such as Mount Towrong, which has an Italian slant in both its wine and food offering, and Curly Flat , now one of the largest estates.

Meet the new generation of local winemakers

the Clydesdale barn at Paramoor. — The Clydesdale barn at Paramoor. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

Then, within the last 15 years, a new crop of vignerons like Andrew Wood at Kyneton Ridge Estate , whose vineyard in 2024 was the first in the Macedon Ranges to be certified by Sustainable Winegrowing Australia; Geoff Plahn and Samantha Reid at Paramoor , who have an impressive cellar door with a roaring fire and studded leather couches in an old Clydesdale barn; and Ollie Rapson and Renata Morello at Lyons Will , who rapidly expanded a small vineyard to focus on top-shelf riesling, gamay, pinot noir and chardonnay, have taken ownership of local estates.

Going back to the early days, Llew Knight’s family was one of the pioneers of the 1970s, replacing sheep with vines at Granite Hills when the wool industry dwindled. Knight is proud of the fact that all their wines are made with grapes from their estate, including a light, peppery shiraz (some Macedon wineries purchase fruit from nearby warmer areas, such as Heathcote, particularly to make shiraz) and a European-style grüner veltliner. And, as many other wineries in the region do, he relies on natural acid for balance, rather than an additive, which is often required in warmer regions. “It’s all about understanding and respecting your climate to get the best out of your wines,” he says.

farm animals atKyneton Ridge Estate — Curious residents at Kyneton Ridge Estate. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

Throughout the Macedon Ranges, there’s a growing focus on sustainability and natural and low-intervention wines, with producers, such as Brian Martin at Hunter Gatherer making waves in regenerative viticulture. Martin previously worked in senior roles at Australia’s largest sparkling winemaking facility, and now applies that expertise and his own nous to natural, hands‑off, wild-fermented wines, including pét‑nat, riesling and pinot noir. “Wild fermentation brings more complexity,” he says. “Instead of introducing one species of yeast, you can have thousands and they add different characteristics to the wine.”

the vineyard at Kyneton Ridge Estate Winery — The estate’s vineyard, where cool-climate grapes are grown. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

Most producers also focus on nurturing their grapes in-field and prune and pick by hand, thus avoiding the introduction of impurities and the need to meddle too much in the winery. “The better the quality of the fruit, the less you have to interfere with the natural winemaking process,” says Wood.

Given the small yields, there’s also little room for error, meaning producers place immense focus on quality. “You’re never going to compete in the middle [in a small region] – you’ve got to aim for the top,” says Curly Flat owner Jeni Kolkka. “Big wineries try to do things as fast as possible, but we’re in no rush,” adds Troy Walsh, owner and winemaker at Attwoods . “We don’t use commercial yeasts; everything is hand-harvested and everything is bottled here, so we bottle only when we’re ready, not when a big truck arrives.” That’s why, when you do see a Macedon Ranges product on a restaurant wine list, it’s usually towards the pointy end.

Come for the wine, stay for the food

pouring sauce onto a dish at Lake HouseDaylesford — Dining at Lake House Daylesford is a treat. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

If wine is the quiet achiever of the Macedon Ranges, then food is its not-so-secret weapon. In fact, the area has more hatted restaurants than any other region in Victoria. A pioneer of the area’s gourmet food movement is region cheerleader Alla Wolf-Tasker, culinary icon and founder of Daylesford’s Lake House.

For more than three decades, Wolf-Tasker has championed local producers and helped define what regional fine dining can look like in Australia. Her influence is palpable, not just in the two-hatted Lake House kitchen, but in the broader ethos of the region’s dining scene, as a wave of high-quality restaurants have followed her lead to become true destination diners.

the Midnight Starling restaurant in Kyneton Ridge Estate Winery — The hatted Midnight Starling restaurant is located in Kyneton. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

It’s easy to eat well, whether at other hatted restaurants, such as Midnight Starling in the quaint town of Kyneton, or at the wineries themselves, like Le Bouchon at Attwoods, where Walsh is inspired by his time working in France in both his food offering and winemaking.

The beauty of dining and wine touring in the Macedon Ranges is that it feels intimate and unhurried. You’re likely to meet the winemaker, hear about the trials of the latest vintage firsthand, and taste wines that never make it to city shelves. And that’s worth getting out of the city for – even if it is just an hour down the road.

Delicate dishes on the menu at Midnight Starling. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

A traveller’s checklist

Staying there

the accommodation at Cleveland Estate, Macedon Ranges — Stay at the Cleveland Estate. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

Soak up vineyard views from Cleveland Estate near Lancefield , embrace retro charm at Kyneton Springs Motel or indulge in lakeside luxury at the Lake House .

Eating there

Enjoy a four-course menu at the one-hatted Surly Goat in Hepburn Springs, Japanese-inspired fare at Kuzu in Woodend or unpretentious fine dining at Mount Monument , which also has a sculpture park.

Drinking there

wine tasting at PassingClouds Winery, Macedon Ranges — A tasting at Passing Clouds Winery. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

Settle in for a tasting at Boomtown in Castlemaine, sample local drops at the cosy Woodend Cellar & Bar or wine-hop around the many cellar doors, such as Passing Clouds .

the Boomtown Winery and Cellar Bar signage — Boomtown Winery and Cellar Bar. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

Playing there

a scenic river in Castlemaine — Idyllic scenes at Castlemaine. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

Wander through the seasonal splendour of Forest Glade Gardens , hike to the summit of Hanging Rock, or stroll around the tranquil Sanatorium Lake.

purple flowers hanging from a tree — Purple flowers hanging from a tree. (Image: Chloe Smith Photography)

On a family holiday to the Kimberleys, AT reader Alison Campbell Rate learns the value of walking tall, staring straight ahead . . . And lying through her teeth.

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